Black Cobalt
by Opal Ember
Summary: It's his eyes I remember the most. A G/T fic


Title: Black Cobalt (1/1)  
Author name: Opal Ember  
Author e-mail: opalember@yahoo.com  
Category: Angst, a smidgen of Romance  
Keywords: Ginny, Riddle, Voldemort  
Spoilers: CoS  
Rating: PG maybe a PG-13  
  
Summary: It's his eyes I remember the most  
  
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and  
owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to  
Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros.,  
Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is  
intended.  
  
A/N: I hope you all enjoy this little plot bunny that hopped into my head on  
the subway. Dedicated to every person on the Younge subway line who gave me  
bizzare looks when I muttered "Huzzah!" to myself when inspiration struck  
;-) Thanks to lily celesta potter for beta-ing.   
  
Feedback is appreciated, coveted, and generally deified...  
  
Enjoy!  
  
---  
BLACK COBALT  
  
It's his eyes that are the most different. In my mind, they are always blue.  
A dusky, brooding, mysterious blue. The blue of the sky at midnight and the  
sea during a storm. A blue so dark it was almost black.  
  
The eyes that are calmly and venomously gazing at me now are nothing like  
the eyes I knew. The eyes in front of me now are red and narrowed, with gash  
like slits where the pupils should be. I know I'm cornered; I know there is  
nowhere I can run; I know that barring some miracle, I am going to die here.  
My life will end in the middle of this forest, in the middle of this war.  
  
He doesn't know who I am. I am just a little girl standing in his way,  
another obstruction on his course. Who am I but one person in the thousands  
left dead by his reign of terror, his paths of blood. He doesn't know that I  
knew the former him. That I once spent hours each day spilling my heart to a  
memory of his sixteen year old self. That that same memory controlled me  
into following out its evil objectives. That I once thought myself to love  
that memory of a person.  
  
I never had anyone to truly talk to until I found Tom Riddle's diary. Being  
the youngest child of seven -and the only girl- makes it near impossible to  
find anyone to talk to. Of course, my mother always claimed to be ready to  
talk, but something was always keeping her busy, be it Charlie falling off  
his broomstick somewhere, or Fred and George turning Percy's quill into a  
fish. And what brother would want to make the time to talk, really talk to,  
his little sister? Even at Hogwarts, the place where I always expected to  
find so many friends and companions, I was lacking someone to confide in.  
Imagine my surprise when the first time I wrote in my diary, it wrote back.  
  
How could I have guessed that in confessing my secrets I would bring forth  
so much pain? I thought that speaking the truth was supposed to obliterate  
wrongs, not to create them. For the longest time, I thought that I was  
luckiest girl on earth, having a charming, receptive friend to carry around  
in my pocket all the time.  
  
I never suspected a thing. I was so naive at the time. In the 5 years since  
I first wrote in that diary, I have seen many things I would not have ever  
thought possible. Death, destruction, and loss have all become parts of my  
daily life. I am wholly changed from the person I was when I put quill to  
paper in that little book. The person I am now would never have trusted the  
words spreading on the page from a hidden source. The person I am now would  
have caught on that something was amiss before anyone had been harmed.  
However, I am the person I am now because I did not distrust the secret  
words, and because I could not stop or understand what was happening to me.  
I became distrustful and guarded after the events in the Chamber of Secrets;  
I appeared the same on the outside, but I had learned never to share my soul  
ever again. Eve those you thought you loved can hurt you in way that are  
unimaginable.  
  
And now I am standing before the person who did that to me. Well, not quite  
that person; the person I knew, the Tom I confided in, the person I loved,  
the thing that controlled me, was only a memory. But the man in front of me  
now created that memory.  
  
I wait for the words I know are coming. All I can do now is wait the handful  
of seconds it will be until my life is extinguished. I think one last time  
of all those minutes spent channeling myself through ink into that diary. I  
think one last time of the dark cobalt eyes turned crimson by years of  
ambition, power, and hatred. I close my eyes and I wait.  
  
"Avada Kedavra"  
  
---  
This fic has ended 


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